Ridiculous Magical Endeavors of a Former Wizard Saint
by Shouta Izukai
Summary: The elderly man had offered not only to commit a crime for his sake, but a place to stay and learn about this place. He didn't deserve such kindness in the first place, and thus had no right to refuse the other's request. But, somehow, he knew it would not be nearly as easy as it sounded.
1. Chapter 1

**It crossed my mind whilst going through Fairy Tail fanfics. There aren't enough with Jellal and/or Mystogan! *^* On another note, due to the long chapters (not that it'll likely be a problem) and the other stories I'm working on (as in Harry Potter &amp; The Visitors From the Dead, and FP stories) there will be somewhat long waits. Which I apologize for, but I always put way too much shit on my plate. :P Anyways, hope you like!**

* * *

Six months had passed since his memories had returned. Eighteen since the members of Fairy Tail vanished. Since Erza vanished. Regrets, what-ifs, and pointless wishes crossed his mind daily. If he hadn't succumbed, things would be different. Perhaps he could have—

"Hurry up!" A female voice called out from further ahead. He sighed, blue hair rustled by the breeze that picked up. The young man berated himself for his wandering thoughts. There was no point in dwelling on the past now. Things had already been settled, and he had a new objective to accomplish. He looked over towards the girl that waved enthusiastically at him, her long rosette-colored hair bouncing along with the action. Beside her, another woman with long dark hair sighed at her companion's antics.

He smiled softly at the thought of his fellow guild mates. He continued towards them from where he'd stopped, his stride leaving a path in the field. Stumbling over something that had been hidden in the tall grass, he cursed quietly, turning around to get a look at the offending object.

It looked like a book, musty with old age. He picked it up, examining the leather cover and crumbling pages. It was yellowed and stained, the text within some foreign language he hadn't seen before. Whatever words had been on the cover have long since faded, the binding itself barely keeping the volume together. For something this ancient to be abandoned on the ground like this was strange, but he wouldn't be able to find any information from the book alone. Perhaps a translator could be found.

An unfamiliar feeling distracted him from his thoughts, pulling at his body. Frowning, he canceled whatever miniscule magic was at the source, though it wasn't familiar to him at all. It felt ancient—nothing akin to the magic today—but it didn't seem dark or threatening either. He assumed the source to have come from the book, as there wasn't anything for miles aside from him, his guild mates, and the grass. The book itself, however, hadn't changed in anyway either.

"Jellal! Is something wrong?" The voice of his other companion called out, the dark-haired woman striding towards him. Her walnut-colored eyes spotted the book in his hands almost immediately. "What's that?"

He looked up to respond, when a discomforting tug at his naval distracted him once more. There was no time for the wizard to react this time as the world blurred. He clutched the book in his hand subconsciously as his surroundings spun rapidly and changed into a myriad of colors. Ultear and Meredy disappeared, and slowly dark grays and mottled browns began to mix with the bright greens and blues of the spinning field.

A familiar voice called his name from somewhere far away before everything went dark.

* * *

The elderly man sat within his office, staring at the miscellaneous objects scattered around the room. Books were not the only objects to line the many shelves, with various trophies and skeleton parts and jars of who-knows-what squished together in a disorienting clutter. Various sized portraits of the previous headmasters and headmistresses covered what remained of the walls, each face looking around, sleeping, talking or some other action to occupy their time. Along the floor stood more artifacts and gadgets of varying types, the most notable being the attentive form of Fawkes beside him.

The red phoenix, having noticed his glance, replied with a fond look of its own before resuming the preening of its feathers.

"Concentrated Chaos," Minerva had once remarked about the room.

"There's a method to the madness," He had replied in turn, using the words of his predecessors. But there was a calm that washed over him whilst observing the area, trying to spot every hidden item within the room from where he sat at his desk. It was almost trance-like, allowing the man to get lost in his thoughts freely.

Those previously mentioned thoughts were what now troubled his mind. The newest threat over not only the boy's life, but over the students associated with him as well. The crack from within Azkaban had been taken advantage of, and now Sirius walked free again.

The wrinkles adorning his pale face became more pronounced as he frowned, eyes unseeing as his inner world's turmoil increased.

Sirius Black. Though called a mass murderer and a Death Eater, the Headmaster couldn't bring himself to believe that to be true. The man was Harry's Godfather, and a dear friend of the Potters. Something more brewed behind the scenes, but as of yet, what exactly the true threat was remained unknown. Until then, however, he would have to wait and see.

A large pressure assaulted his senses, breaking the elderly man from his reverie. He stood abruptly; hand on the wand hidden within his robes. The feeling dissipated slowly, though it was not entirely gone. The feeling lingered, and he knew that an ancient magic was at work.

Albus Dumbledore headed swiftly for the location, which was not at all far from the school. His stride was long, quickened by the unsettling feeling in his stomach. It would not do for there to be an unknown threat to the school only two months away from September.

"Albus! Did you feel that?" A shrewd woman, though her face was currently creased in worry and apprehension, joined the man in his hurry. He nodded in return, his mouth set in a firm line.

"It came from the Forest." He replied curtly, not pausing or looking over at the middle-aged woman beside him. They nearly ran down the staircases, which moved to help them arrive at their destination quicker. Once out the doors, they did not pause, instead increasing their pace as their neared the source of the magic.

The feeling of the ancient magic became smaller and smaller as time passed, and with each length the wizards drew closer, their breaths audible. The source was not too far within the tree line, resting just inside.

The two were taken aback, however, to see where exactly the source had come from.

Sprawled along the ground, a book in his hands, was a young man who couldn't have been older than 21. His hair was somewhat shaggy, and a shade of blue that couldn't have been natural. His body, which lay face down amidst the clumps of grass, was hidden by a dark blue cloak with white trimming. A high-collared, dark green coat was visible underneath, as well as long black boots. Despite this, his lithe, muscular figure was still somewhat noticeable.

"Who is he?" The Deputy Headmistress muttered, her eyes staring at the unconscious man before them. The elder stroked his long gray beard thoughtfully for a moment before he proceeded to bend down next to the body.

"Why don't we find out?" Dumbledore replied, slowly rolling the stranger over so as not to worsen any unseen injuries. An intricate red tattoo adorned the right side of his face, both above and under his eye. As the elderly man moved his body, however, he noticed the old book that remained clutched within the stranger's hand. "It seems he was brought here by this." He gestured towards the tome.

"A portkey? Still, I don't recognize him." She replied, eyeing the book with as much curiosity as her companion. "I suppose, if he isn't a threat, we should bring him to Poppy." She suggested after a moment. She most definitely did not trust the man, but he didn't look like a Death Eater, and he most certainly wasn't Sirius Black. There must be some reason for him to have come to Hogwarts of all places, so until he woke up, they'd have to wait for that answer.

She helped Albus carry the stranger back up to the castle, struggling with his surprisingly light body. An abnormally large, burly man lumbered over to them. Anxiety was written across his face, even though that was largely hidden by the tangled, scraggly brown hair that made up the lower half of his face.

"Headmaster Dumbledore!" He cried, slowing to a stop before them. Several animal carcasses hung from the pockets of his large fur coat. Minerva wrinkled her nose in distaste at the sight, but otherwise didn't mention it. "Who's that?" He gestured towards the body between them, which had been dropped rather ungracefully on the ground.

"Ah, Hagrid," Dumbledore greeted the half-giant fondly. The large man's features visibly softened for a moment in response. "We found this young man collapsed within the Forest." He answered the question in way of explanation, but Hagrid simply nodded, not inquiring further.

"I'll give ya a hand." He said, easily picking up the blue-haired stranger in his arms. "Should I take 'im to the infirmary?" He asked, looking at the young man's face uncertainly for a moment before he returned his gaze to Dumbledore. The man nodded, following the half-giant's large strides as the three of them proceeded towards the castle.

* * *

He groaned, stirring slowly into consciousness. However, as his senses came alive, his fascination and utter confusion leaned towards the rather… soft grass beneath him. His hands moved along it, feeling no uneven dirt or rocks. A soft object rested lightly on his body, the feeling of it similar to that beneath him. He turned his head against the incessant light that had begun to filter through his eyelids. He was pleasantly surprised that whatever his head lay on was much softer than he had anticipated, and his head sank into it.

His ears picked up a soft murmuring not far from where he lay, and he struggled to enhance his hearing in hope of understanding. However, no matter how he strained, it continued to sound like gibberish. Giving up, he struggled to sit, his body and eyelids still heavy with sleep. As he pushed upwards, he winced at the pangs in his sides and arms. Whatever bruises he had sustained from collapsing were certainly making themselves evident.

When he first opened his eyes, he had to screw them shut again at the light that nearly blinded him. He tried again, slower this time. The voices he'd heard before had stopped; probably as a result of his waking. He lay upon a bed, one of the many that lined the walls of the room. Aside from the bed he sat in, they were all empty, the clean cream-white sheets and pillows lay neatly on each mattress. The room itself was much larger than he had expected there to be in the area they were traveling, where there wasn't any buildings for miles. Perhaps it had been hidden using magic, he mused.

The light that had been a bother previously streamed in through large glass windows that made up a majority of the walls, unlit lanterns beside each. The majority of the room was stone, with wooden beams for support high above in the tall ceiling. He looked around the place in wonder, absent-mindedly noticing that his cloak and coat lay folded on a wooden chair that sat next to the bed he currently occupied, and that the plated armor covering his abdomen had disappeared.

"**I see you're awake.**" The strange murmurings drew his attention towards the three others in the room aside from him. What immediately grabbed his attention was that Ultear and Meredy were not among them.

The one who had spoken was an elderly man whose long white hair and beard reached down towards his chest. His tall figure was hidden by the long, deep blue robes he currently wore. His hands were folded neatly in front of him, which were adorned by several rings on his fingers. Those long fingers moved from their position for a moment to adjust the ridiculous pointed hat upon the man's head before settling back in place. A pleasant smile graced the man's face, which creased with many wrinkles at the action. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken too many times, but did not give him the intimidating figure that so many others had. His blue eyes, though somewhat hidden by the half-moon spectacles the man wore, twinkled.

Jellal wondered if that was natural. The man opened his mouth, and another stream of words came out of his mouth. When the elder looked expectantly at him, he realized it had been a question. And then he realized that he hadn't understood a word of it.

"What?" He asked, still completely bewildered at the current situation. He was sitting in a strange place, with strange people, and had absolutely no idea what was going on. Oh, and he couldn't communicate with them either.

The older man frowned for a moment, turning back to speak with the others in their language. Then he proceeded to return his attention to Jellal and, pointing to his face, said "Albus." Jellal creased his brows in thought at the action. Assuming it to be the man's name, he pointed at his own face, mirroring the man's action, and said "Jellal." Another smile graced the man's face.

'Albus' pointed behind him, where two middle-aged women stood, and said their names as he gestured to each. "Poppy, Minerva." Jellal nodded again.

Poppy was the elder looking of the two, with stringy gray hair tied back in a bun around her pale, slightly wrinkled face. Her eyes were a light blue, looking at him with the familiar, but sharp gaze of a nurse towards the injured. Her appearance supported that hypothesis, as she dressed in an old-fashioned scarlet gown that was adorned by a white apron. An entirely unfamiliar sort of hat rested upon her head, but Jellal glanced over it quickly in case he stared too long.

Minerva held a firm, though disapproving expression, the stern gaze accented by her green eyes. She held a straight, formal posture, which was evident even through the billowing emerald-colored robes, and her dark, but graying hair was pulled back neatly into a high bun. Her hands were folded over much like Albus', but far stiffer. Jellal knew she was not one to be messed with.

His attention was pulled back to the old man, who had withdrawn a long, though somewhat fancy stick. The blue-haired man raised an eyebrow curiously at the other, who merely winked and pointed it at him. What alarmed him next was the stream of magic that shot from the tip and smacked him in the forehead. He rubbed the spot in irritation, glaring at the infuriatingly bright eyes of the other.

"What did you do that for?" He growled, only to stop as the words came out of his mouth. "What…?" He began, confusion taking over once more.

"I presume you can understand me now?" Albus asked, though he continued on without waiting for an explanation. "That was a translation spell. It's much easier to communicate when we can speak the same language after all." The twinkle in his eyes seemed brighter, a mischievous light having joined it.

"Spell? So… that was magic?" He asked in return, eyebrows now thoroughly furrowed at the lack of understanding, despite the fact that they now spoke the same language. So this man conducted magic through the use of a stick? While it wasn't unusual for him to conduct his magic through an object, there hadn't been any incantation or magic circle to initiate it. And frankly, the stick reminded him of those old stories of witches that flew on brooms and wore pointy hats. Though, from the look of the hat that Minerva wore, perhaps that wasn't too far off.

This time, however, it was the elder's turn to raise an eyebrow at the remark. "Yes, it was. Do you not use magic?"

Jellal shook his head in frustration. "I do, but not like that." He answered. At the other's gesture, he looked around the room for an object to demonstrate with. Though most of the spells he knew were somewhat dangerous, there were still a few simple ones he remembered that would get the point across.

His gaze settled on an adjacent chair that sat against the wall nearby, nothing atop it. Jellal could feel the lack of magic within him, having used much of it destroying the minor, though somewhat strong Dark Guild he'd come across.

The adults that stood nearby watched in awe as the chair lifted itself, floating towards them and landing next to Albus with a soft clack.

"He did that without a wand…?" Minerva muttered as her expression morphed into one of astonishment. The bearded man peered at him from over the top of the spectacles, an intrigued smile becoming it visible.

"You know wandless magic?" He inquired, the smile remaining on his face.

"Where I come from, most mages use wandless magic." The young man replied, hesitating before he pronounced "wandless".

"Where are you from, if I may ask?" Minerva interrupted, the curiosity in her voice poorly hidden. Jellal remained tight-lipped, pressing his lips together into a tight line. Judging from the information he'd received so far, Fiore wasn't anywhere near… wherever he was. Though both sides used magic, one consisted of witches and wizards, whilst the other contained mages. Whatever forms of magic they used were different as well. When it became evident that he wasn't going to answer, she sighed and retreated from the conversation for that moment. The blue-haired male took this as an opportunity for him to begin asking questions and gaining the information he needed most at the moment.

"Where am I?" Albus pursed his lips in thought for a moment, as if debating how to answer.

"You're currently in the infirmary of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." He eventually conceded. Jellal raised an eyebrow at the name. But rather than odd names, seeing as that would likely become common here, it was the latter part of the title that caught his interest. Witchcraft and Wizardry? What's more is it was a school. He'd never once heard of a school that taught magic, even during his time as a council member. He'd heard of dragons that taught young children, mages that took on apprentices, and self-taught mages. But never schools.

"Where is that located?" He inquired further, hoping to hear the name of a neighboring country, at the very least. Edolas was out, since they no longer had magic, from what he'd heard.

"The United Kingdom." Poppy replied firmly, though the look on her face became bewildered at the question. He felt his face drain of color, his hands going cold and clammy. Wiping the sweat from his palms, he took a moment to control his quivering breaths before speaking.

"Is that located in Earthland? Or near Fiore?"

The expressions on their faces became more confused, concern beginning to creep in as well in response to his question. Minerva shook her head. "It's located in Europe, and this is Earth." Jellal cursed, bringing a shaky hand over his face in frustration, while the other clenched atop the sheets. He had theorized that if Edolas existed, then other dimensions were likely out there as well. But he had never anticipated _travelling_ to one of those dimensions. This did not bode well for him.

Albus, as if sensing his turmoil, withdrew an ancient, though familiar book from within his robes. "Do you recognize this?" He asked, holding it up for Jellal to see. He nodded in response. "This object is known as a portkey, which is one of several forms of transportation here." Jellal frowned in thought at the new information, but gestured at the older man to continue. "You were brought here by this, though a dimensional portkey is considered illegal, and they're considered extremely rare nowadays. How you found it is quite curious, I must say." He murmured the last part to himself, looking down at the book thoughtfully.

"Can it take me back?" The younger asked almost immediately. Albus sighed, and shook his head.

"I may be able to construct one to do so, but it will take a significant amount of time. There's only two months until the start of the term, and my time then will be severely limited in helping you." He warned, although his tone became much lighter with his next words. "Of course, you're welcome to stay here at Hogwarts in the meantime, seeing as I may require your assistance in creating it."

Jellal opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it. Though he didn't deserve such kindness from a man he'd just met—Albus was willing to commit a crime for his sake—he knew nothing about this world. If he did later decide to leave the grounds, it'd be prudent of him to learn everything he could about this world first. Since it was a school, perhaps they had a library. "Thank you, Albus." He finally conceded, sending the man a grateful look.

"But of course! Though, I hope you won't mind my asking a request of you in return." He replied, beaming another smile towards the other. Jellal had a feeling that this request would not be as easy as it sounded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long wait. ^^ Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

When Jellal busied himself with exploring the school and learning about this world, it seemed he far underestimated what should have been a simple task. He stared at the empty, though brightly lit corridor before him, which somehow seemed the same as the one he had began in two floors below.

"Are you, perhaps, lost, young sir?" A painting—he never would get used to that—inquired, leaning forward with raised spectacles, as if to peer into his eyes and predict his future. While the question was innocent, and most definitely right on target, the mage still had some semblance of pride left.

"Wh-What makes you say that?" He asked, silently cursing at the stutter in his voice. The feminine face raised a delicate eyebrow at him, but pried no further, and instead gestured towards a smaller entrance he hadn't noticed before.

"That will take you back to the third floor." It—she—turned away from him, supposedly minding her own business, though he could see one gray eye watching him when he supposedly wasn't looking.

Jellal didn't question any further, taking the passageway with a step of caution. Once deciding that the floor wouldn't drop from beneath him (again), he continued at a quicker pace. The small path exited into a much larger hallway, the portraits here watching him and whispering conspiratorially to each other. A soft rumbling caught his attention nearby, causing his feet to turn towards them, if merely out of habit.

He stopped abruptly, eyes widening as dozens of staircases above and below him moved from one balcony to another. Each created the sound he'd heard earlier as the supposedly still stone shuddered and jarred, moving itself to a different location. One such stairwell, leading farther down, shuddered to a stop at his feet.

He stepped carefully onto the carpet laid upon them, and quickly proceeded to jog down them before they moved again. He nearly flew down the stairway, landing with ease at the next floor.

Jellal watched as that staircase moved and another took its place, leading down farther. He didn't try to stop the small grin that crept onto his face. Taking a step, he repeated the process, practically jumping from floor to floor. Perhaps this school would be more fun than he had anticipated.

* * *

The library contained more books than he had seen since Siegrain's days in the Council. Tall shelves created small hallways within the room, packed with variously colored books of different sizes and textures. He moved evenly past the round oaken tables, eyes fixed firmly on the shelves with a sort of anticipatory delight.

His footsteps slowed down significantly as his eyes scanned the titles, finger tracing along leather spines. He'd never seen so many books purely on magic. Even in the Council's library, there were books about cultures, economics and politics; books about history, nonmagical folk, and mathematics. But here, it was about magic and the different types, history on magical folk and all the different magical species. Yet, there was also an entire section purely based on nonmagical folk and their culture. Although the books were in entirely different languages, it still provided him with some semblance of information. Once he learned how to read it, of course.

"I see you've taken a liking to the library." Albus strode crookedly into the aisle, that ever-present smile on his face. Jellal, jerked from his thoughts, turned to the man, smiling a greeting in return.

"Yes, well, I need to learn as much as I can about this place." He replied evenly, his eye catching a book labeled _'Portkeys'_. He reached for it, pulling out the large tome from its spot sandwiched between other literatures. "…What's in the Restricted Section?"

"Of course, I've been meaning to speak with you about that." With an incline of his head, the Headmaster led the younger towards the back, where the aforementioned area of the library was situated. It was separated from the rest of the area by a rope, and even from several feet away the mage could feel the old magic coming from within. The shelves beyond the rope were old, perhaps almost as old as the dust-covered tomes they held.**  
**

"Why is it restricted?" Jellal inquired, but Albus simply smiled wider. They moved farther into the area, the space around them getting dustier and darker, the light from the main library fading behind them.

_Lumos_. Jellal watched with a hint of fascination as the tip of the stick—er, wand—the elder held lit up in a luminescent glow. They continued walking, the mage careful not to trip over any stray tomes or loose flooring.

It was when they reached so far back that the library was no longer visible that the two stopped. There were no longer books in this section, but rather, papyrus scrolls and stone tablets that had been preserved with magic.

Albus reached for the top shelf, extracting a particularly worn scroll from the depths of the space. "Take a look at this." He said, carefully placing the scroll in the young man's hands. The blue-haired man did just that, unrolling the papyrus. He stopped after a glimpse of its contents, eyes widening for a fraction and then narrowing all at once.

"Where did you get this?" He all but growled, clutching the scroll with trembling hands. He could read every word of it, understand every letter. He knew the names, the words.

Albus merely shook his head, smile disappearing for a moment as he studied the tattooed face. "It's been here for years. One of the previous Headmasters might've brought it back, perhaps, or it might have always been here."

"…Do you mind if I keep this?" Shaky hands somehow found a way to roll the scroll back up, still clutching it tightly. The wizard watched with an inquisitive eye, but shrugged lightheartedly nonetheless.

"Go ahead, if it is so important to you." He replied, smiling. A blue eye observed the way the other's shoulders dropped in relief.

"Thank you." Jellal retreated from the area quickly, scroll still clutched in his hands. Albus watched him as he left, an inquiring look on his face and a bony hand stroking his long white beard thoughtfully.

* * *

It's been over a month since he arrived here, and there was only two more weeks until the start of the term. In the meantime, he'd learned the language, which was surprisingly easy. Twenty-six letters was nothing compared to Fiore's alphabet. In fact, he found it much simpler and easier to read and write.

He spent much of his time in the library, reading books on nearly every subject. If he wasn't reading, he was speaking with the other people there or helping out around the castle. He found it particularly interesting how the magical community here was so isolated from the rest of the world. Back in Fiore, both sides interacted on a daily basis. There was no prejudice about which was better, and mages could put up their services in order to earn a living.

The thought of his home caused a grimace to settle unpleasantly on his face. He'd already been here for at least six weeks; Meredy and Ultear were probably worried about him. What if Erza and the other Fairy Tail mages had been found? He sighed, rubbing the creases from his face and shutting the book in his hand. His thoughts had been straying to that subject often, and it caused him much more stress than he needed.

Jellal looked around the room he'd been lent, at the four-post bed and the dresser and the cherry-wood desk in the corner. Sighing again, he stood from the leather armchair, setting the book down on the side table. For the tenth time in three hours he opened the desk drawer, staring at the wand that still sat in its case.

Just over thirteen inches of a pale, almost white color, though still with the distinct texture and appearance of wood. It could've been a rather large chopstick for all he knew, had he not experienced firsthand the crimson sparks that emitted from the thinner tip. Intricate web-like designs draped around it, as if it were shattered glass that had been put back together again. His hand reached for it, brushing along the patterns of the wood, only to recoil immediately at the ensuing feeling.

Like a narrow vacuum, sucking in his magic and pulling it through the conduit, forcibly sculpting it to fit in a previously created mold. The feeling was uncomfortable, as if he'd lost control over his own magic. While Albus had insisted he at least own one, for the satisfaction of both him and the acting government here, Jellal didn't want to use it—much less to even hold it.

A series of consistent rapping upon the door startled the mage out of his thoughts, his hand knocking into the drawer as he turned to answer it. The wand, jolted by the sudden movements, flipped over the side and onto the emerald carpet, rolling beneath the desk.

"How does that even happen…?" He muttered to himself, sparing a glance at the ground where the wand had landed before moving quickly to the door.

A large, burly man towered over him, head not quite clearing the doorway. He grinned down at the other from beneath the scraggly beard, accompanied by a small wave of the hand. "'Ello there… Jellal, was it?" He said in a gruff, but warm voice.

Jellal nodded, smiling softly in return at the other. "Yes. Hagrid, right?" The man grinned in confirmation. "Did you need something?"

The man hefted a small pouch, which jingled with the clinking of coins. "You 'aven't been to Diagon Alley, righ'? I was 'eadin' over there and though' ya might like to come." He didn't really feel like going, but the curiosity quickly overcame that.

"Sure."

* * *

Diagon Alley was a myriad of European wizarding culture. Jellal could appreciate that. However, he just could not condone the way they stared at him as if he was an unseen phenomenon on display.

He cast yet another glare to a gawking wizard, sending the man scurrying off. "Why are they all staring?" He turned to the large, burly man leading him around. If anything, this man should be the one attracting all the looks, but it seemed that most wizards knew him, paying the half-giant no mind.

"Per'aps because you got unnatural 'air." Hagrid replied, and though his comment was innocent, it still rubbed the blue-haired man the wrong way.

He opened his mouth to protest, to tell the other it was a completely natural color where he came from, and that he was born with this hair, but Albus's words came back to him.

* * *

_They stood at the exit to the castle; the same door that Hagrid often used to go to and from his hut. Despite his outwardly calm demeanor, Jellal felt restless. He wanted to leave quickly, to get his first true glimpse of the world outside the castle._

_Albus stood nearby, giving some last remarks—reminders, perhaps—to the larger man. Jellal watched as the half-giant's dark eyes glittered with admiration for the other, soaking in every word that was said._

_They finished up their conversation fairly quickly, and the elder turned to Jellal, whose shoulders straightened just slightly at the somber look that took over the smile that'd been there previously._

"_I should warn you beforehand," Albus began and the younger nodded, gesturing for him to continue. "You're… hair color is not considered natural here."_

_Jellal immediately returned the comment with a disarming smile, though the effect on Albus wasn't nearly as noticeable as it would've been on anyone else._

"_Thank you for your concern. I'll make sure to remember that."_

* * *

He supposed he'd just have to put up with it. He figured this meant he probably couldn't explore the muggle world either. "That there is Ollivander's shop. He came by to help you with your wand, righ'?"

Hagrid pointed at a dingy little shop at one end of the long street, with a sign featuring the wandmaker's name in looping letters. Jellal nodded in response, noting with mild interest the dusty, cluttered and downtrodden appearance of the building.

For the next several hours, the taller led the castle's guest around the Alley, pointing out shops and people as they went in and out of doors. The mage absorbed the information, eyes darting around in an attempt to remember every detail of each room. He observed with interest the things Hagrid bought, going in and out of seemingly random shops and buying seemingly random objects.

By the time dinner hit, both men were carrying multiple bags slung across either arm, each of varying sizes. Hagrid led Jellal to the end of the street, in which a brick wall stood.

"'Old these for a moment, will ya?" The half-giant said, dumping another five bags into the shorter man's arms. Jellal was about to protest, tempted to just drop the weight from his aching appendages, when the taller withdrew an… umbrella?

The mage watched with fascination as the tip of the umbrella tapped carefully against a seemingly random assortment of bricks along the wall. As Hagrid withdrew the umbrella from the wall, the bricks parted, folding in on each other. They moved back and back and back, rotating in place so that they replaced others which replaced others and so on, until a large arch replaced much of the bare wall. Beyond was a door leading up to a large, though dingy structure.

Hagrid marched calmly through the arch and towards the door, oblivious to the awe of the mage behind him. "This 'ere's the Leaky Cauldron." He said by way of explanation, burly hand pulling open the door with a flourish. He turned back to see Jellal still watching with interest, feet planted in his spot. "Well? C'mon!" The taller cried, beckoning roughly.

Jumping from his thoughts, the blue-haired man complied, striding up to the door. He followed the half-giant inside, absently taking note of the appearance, which reflected the outside. Not much for a first impression, he thought, but it had a homey feel about it. He decided he liked it.

"Hello there, Hagrid." A sleezy old man called out from behind a bar counter, his smile friendly as he directed it towards the two newcomers. Hagrid greeted the man warmly, pulling Jellal up beside him.

"'Ello there, Tom." He leant down, beard tickling the mage's ear as he spoke. "This 'ere's Tom, the owner." Tom smiled again, reaching out to shake the younger man's outstretched hand. Despite his appearance, the man had a firm grip.

"It's nice to meet you, mister…" Tom began, head tilted expectantly.

"Jellal. Jellal Fernandes." He replied, returning the warm gestures with a smile of his own. Tom nodded. Hagrid and the inn keeper engaged themselves in small talk a while longer, Jellal standing off to the side politely.

Despite himself, the mage's eyes wandered, taking in the other occupants of the room. It was largely empty, the few that were there keeping their heads low and their faces out of sight. They wore dreary-colored robes, hunching over their food and drink and keeping their hats pulled over their head, as if they were trying to hide.

A young boy, his appearance far different from the rest, attracted his attention. The boy—a young teen, perhaps around 14 or 15—sat with a straight back, unlike the others, picking at his food quietly in the corner of the room. His hair wasn't as… interesting as some other wizards he'd seen, raven-black that hung down into bright green eyes. Round glasses hung off of his face, and every few minutes the boy would push them up again. Like his glasses, his clothes were ill-fitting, much too large for the boy's small, scrawny frame.

The boy's head snapped up, eyes tearing from the plate to meet his eyes. The two stared at each other, the drone of the few conversations fading into a distant murmur.

"…al."

"…llal."

The blue-haired mage wrenched his eyes away from the other, turning to the location of the gruff voice calling his name.

* * *

Harry watched the strange man talking to Hagrid. He'd never seen him before—at least, he didn't think so. He liked to think he'd remember someone with blue hair and a tattoo on his face, especially in such foreign clothes. He hadn't seen anything like it; the cloak was relatively normal, but the style of the man's green coat beneath and the way he wore both it and his pants were nothing like any other wizards he's seen.

Rather than leaving, the two sat down at one of the empty table, only a few dozen feet away from his own. The teen continued to scrutinize the stranger. How did he know Hagrid? Was he a new teacher? The man turned to face him again, and Harry ducked his head down.

The teen watched through his bangs as the blue-haired stranger turned back around, leaning in to talk to the half-giant beside him. Absent-mindedly, a hand reached up to his forehead, fingers tracing the scar. It was a distant throb; nothing too painful or bothersome, but enough to be distracting.

As the feeling slowly faded away, hand falling once more to rest on the table, the _thump thump thump_ of heavy footfalls fell repeatedly on the wood floors, getting louder as it came closer to him.

Harry looked up just as large arms swept him up, pulling him close. His face was crushed into thick fur, a scraggly beard tickling his nose. A lopsided grin grew onto his face as the arms released him, setting him down on his feet.

"It's nice to see you too, Hagrid." The Boy Who Lived greeted, a wide smile returning the gesture. Harry's smile faltered slightly as he noticed the blue-haired stranger standing a little ways off, watching them. Hagrid followed his gaze, giving an exclamation of realization as he grabbed the other man by the arm, pulling him over.

The half-giant clapped the man on the back in a friendly manner, causing him to stumble. "'Arry! This's Jellal! 'E's staying at 'ogwarts for the year." Hagrid explained, grin never slipping from his face.

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry shook the hand reached out to him, staring more at the tattoo than at the man's eyes. "I-It's nice to meet you, sir." He mumbled, but the man smiled nonetheless.

"It's nice to meet you too. Harry, right?" The man—Jellal—replied, the mention of the teen's name causing Harry to stiffen out of shock. 'Jellal' seemed to notice this, giving the teen an apologetic look as his hand retreated under the cloak he wore. "Sorry," The man said, eyebrows raised in curiosity of the raven-haired boy's reaction. "Hagrid was telling me about you not too long ago."

The aforementioned man grinned sheepishly under Harry's gaze, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed. Harry merely shook his head in amusement—he could never stay mad at Hagrid for long.

The Boy Who Lived turned his attention back to Jellal—what a strange name, Harry thought—whose appearance held the stance of a practiced, though outwardly relaxed, fighter. Briefly, it made him wonder just what this man does for a living.

"Are you the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed in a questioning scrutiny. If he was, he surely wasn't a local. Did Dumbledore have a connection with this man in some way? Did the stranger owe a favor or was he simply a long-time friend? Or was he another Death Eater, infiltrating the school again? The questions came to a halt as Jellal laughed softly.

"No, no I'm not. I'll be helping some of the other professors, but I won't be a full-time professor or anything." He explained, waving off the idea.

Harry narrowed his eyes briefly at the man, but quickly turned his gaze away towards Hagrid.

"So, Hagrid, what brings you here?" He asked innocently.

"Jus' 'ogwarts business." The half-giant replied, winking. "Professor Dumbledore wanted me ta grab some stuff for the school year. Thought I'd bring Jellal 'ere along to see Diagon Alley." The man laughed, clapping his companion on the back heartily. Catching himself this time, Jellal smiled politely at the other.

Harry turned back to the blue-haired man. "You're not from around here then? Where are you from?"

* * *

Inwardly, Jellal groaned. He'd seen the suspicious glances the kid kept throwing at him, and he knew the expression people got when they were forming a plan. He could practically see the gears turning in the kid's head.

"You're not from around here then? Where are you from?" He granted the kid one thing: the brat was crafty.

Jellal did his best to put on a disarming, not-at-all-creepy-or-intimidating smile. "A way's away. Nowhere you've heard of, I'm sure." Harry's expression was innocent, but his eyes gave away his intentions. The school year hadn't even started yet and the mage was going to get found out.

"Try me." The blue-haired mage's smile faltered slightly at the challenge. His fingers twitched. How he'd love to pull a _Sema_ on this kid.

…Well, in retrospect, that might be a little excessive.

"I'm from a city called Magnolia." The former Wizard Saint replied, trying and only partially succeeding in hiding his irritation. While the statement wasn't exactly true, the city—or more accurately the Guild and the Guild members within the city—held a special place in his heart. Cheesy as that sounds.

When the boy gave him a questioning gaze, Jellal laughed inwardly in triumph. "What country is that in?" Harry pressed, face now scrunched up in frustration. Jellal merely sent him a triumphant gaze.

"I answered your question. Why not find out?" He could hear the kid mutter in an irritated tone under his breath. Beside him, Hagrid merely looked on in blissful ignorance to the silent battle raging before him.

* * *

**Jellal's Wand is 13 1/3 inches, with Pine wood, Phoenix Feather Core, and is Reasonably Supple.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Holy crap, 26+ followers already. And I just realized it's been almost four months since I posted last. Sorry about that; I promise I haven't abandoned it or anything, it's just less of a priority compared to some other stories I'm working on at the moment. O_O Thanks for reading so far~!**

**EDIT: Due to plot issues, and the fact that I didn't realize it until now, I've edited this and the last chapter so that it takes place in fifth year, not third. As a result, the next chapter may take a little longer than I'd hoped. Sorry about that. :P**

* * *

By the time they returned to the castle, Jellal was exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep.

After eating at the Leaky Cauldron and having to skirt around Harry's questions while not backing himself into a corner—which proved to be much more difficult than he thought it would be whilst conversing with the fifteen year old kid—Hagrid had dragged him back through the stores again.

Minerva gave him a knowing, sympathetic look as he passed her.

The mage climbed the steps of the grand staircase slowly, having already memorized the way to his room. The bust of a nameless wizard sat atop a marble pedestal, stone eyes watching him as he trudged ever closer. "Heaven's Tower," Jellal stated clearly, despite the exhaustion he was feeling. When Albus had first told him the password, he nearly let loose a very inappropriate comment about the irony. Fortunately, he held his tongue. It probably wouldn't turn out well for him if Albus were to find out he housed a criminal.

The pedestal and statue, along with a good section of the wall, melded together before solidifying in a small, odd-shaped door that Jellal opened with a bang. He found out fairly quickly that the door loved to put up obstacles for him.

The room looked the same as he'd left it, yet the former Wizard Saint couldn't shake the small niggling in the back of his mind. Something about the room… Shaking his head, Jellal did a quick once over of the area, not finding anything different or out of the ordinary that he could think of.

Swallowing a yawn, the blue-haired man glanced at the rather comfy-looking bed before taking another thorough look at the chamber. He yawned again, this time without repressing it. He'd just take a quick nap, and perhaps he could figure out the problem when he woke…

With that thought in mind, Jellal fell into the soft mattress, falling asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

_He stood in a field, surrounded by the tall grasses. He lifted an arm, shielding his eyes from the wind that seemed to cut like a knife. The grasses rustled impatiently, his cloak whipping around his legs. The field whispered to him in a language he couldn't seem to understand. It sounded so familiar, and he felt like he should know it, but he didn't. It was frustrating, and he growled as he wracked his brain._

_The voices grew louder, rising and falling in a rhythm with the wind. At times the voices would rise up in unison; at other times one section would rise whilst the other fell. _

_They were deep, bellowing shouts and light, tinkling laughter. Hoarse, rough screams that grated at one's ears were accompanied by the pleasant, delighted shrieks and giggles of children. The loud, lilted singing of a choir rose alongside the despairing cries of the suffering and the dying._

_And the people speaking. They were talking, talking, talking in that language, understanding just out of his reach. They invaded his thoughts, entering through his ears and eyes and mouth and nose, cramming themselves into his head. They dug their way past his skull, piercing his brain to wriggle their way inside like parasites, getting louder and louder and—_

"_Shut up!" He cried, clutching at his head in agony. "Just leave me alone!" His body wanted to crumple under the weight; his eyes wanted to close, to shut out and protect them from the burning acid that seemed to seep into the cracks. But it was like he'd turned to stone. His body refused to move or respond, leaving him at the mercy of the voices and the cutting wind that carried them._

"_Please! Leave me _alone_!" His voice sounded strange, unfamiliar. It didn't sound like his voice, but more like a child's. A desperate cry muffled by the background noise of their surroundings._

_One voice in particular rose above the din, speaking clearly and firmly. It was a woman's voice, her tone speaking above the others. All at once the voices quieted, his eyesight clearing again. His hands dropped slowly from where they were tearing at his hair, attempting to block out the invading voices. The wind died down, and for a moment, everything was absolutely, perfectly still. _

_Her voice rose up again, her unfamiliar words clear in his mind. He couldn't understand what she said, couldn't comprehend the words attempting to register in his mind, but he understood the meaning. The words were merely a vessel, the true meaning behind them clear as day, whether or not he could cognize the sounds that her lips formed. _

_And amongst the endless green waves there was another sight. The wind, which had previously battered against him with an angry countenance, all but stopped in its actions. Now, a gentle breeze ruffled his hair and clothes, drying the sweat that coated his face._

_He started moving forward, his feet seeming to find the strength to move now that nothing was pushing him back. He stepped forward carefully, testing the waters. He began moving more confidently, eyes turning forward, to look for a destination._

_Before him was _her_, long, scarlet red hair bright against the homochromatic setting. He reached forward, desperately, in her direction, calling out. But his voice refused to leave his throat, catching before it could fully escape. _

_His feet felt as if they were weights, dragging through the fauna as he tried to move forward, to walk, run—to catch her before she could disappear again. _

_Crying out, he reached further, frantically. But her back was to him; she didn't see, didn't hear. She seemed to fade right before his eyes, her scarlet red hair beginning to blend into the verdant fields._

"_No! Don't leave me! _!"_

* * *

Jellal bolted up, scrambling for a solid, firm hold on something, _anything._ A cold sweat coated his body, drenching his clothes—he still hadn't changed out of his clothes from the outing yesterday—and dampening his sheets.

The mage, gasping for breath, blinked the sleep out of his eyes, slowly focusing his sight. The unfamiliar surroundings caught him off guard for several moments, panicking briefly before realizing where he was and how he'd gotten there. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, the blue-haired man sat up fully, rubbing his face tiredly.

Despite being asleep for what must have been at least ten hours or so, judging from the position of the sun, he felt as if he hadn't slept at all.

He squinted his eyes, trying to dredge up the now hazy memories of the dream. He grimaced at the headache that formed, receiving for his efforts only a glimpse of scarlet.

A knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts, and a small, shriveled face accompanied by large pointed ears. Two beady eyes stared dolefully up at him, with a quivering lip jutting out ever so slightly. Jellal blinked, narrowing his eyes as he tried to remember the exact name of the creature's particular species.

"S-Si-Sir, th-the He-Headm-ma-master re-req-requests y-y-you-ur pr-pres-sence i-in th-the Grea-reat H-H-Hall-l." She squeaked, a stuttering mess, and Jellal noted absently that she seemed much smaller than most of the other such creatures. A young one perhaps.

Noticing she was waiting for a response, he nodded and spoke. "Thank you, I'll be down in a moment." The creature—a House Elf, that was it!—squeaked again in embarrassment, blushing as she turned and scampered off, shutting the door behind her.

Bewildered as to the House Elf's reaction, Jellal simply shook his head, pulling his sore body out of the comfort and warmth of the blankets.

* * *

Once he looked at least presentable, the foreign mage made his way somewhat reluctantly down towards the Great Hall. Within it was fairly empty, aside from a single plate of steaming food sitting on one of the tables. Looking and seeing no other living being within the vicinity, he sat down before the dish, carefully taking a bite.

The food itself wasn't too unfamiliar, tasted fine, and since he was still alive, it wasn't poisoned either. Giving a mental shrug, the man ate, quickly finding he was much hungrier than he'd originally anticipated.

It wasn't long after he'd finished that the grand oaken door to the Hall opened again, one Albus Dumbledore stepping through. He had a relatively cheery disposition, sitting across from Jellal. With a wave of his wand, the now empty plate disappeared; presumably back to the kitchen to be cleaned.

"How was the food? To your liking, I hope?" The older man asked, keeping the small talk pleasant.

"It was fine, thank you." Jellal replied if somewhat hesitantly. The Headmaster was the one to call him down here in the first place, and he must have for a reason. Once the pleasantries were out of the way, he would surely ask something of him.

"And how did you like Diagon Alley?" Something felt off about the man's smile, and Jellal narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly in an attempt to find out what exactly was so wrong about it.

"It was… different, for sure, and strange, but not necessarily in a bad way." He replied slowly, enunciating his words as he did so.

Albus nodded in a satisfied manner. "That's good. I was worried when I heard from Minerva that you went straight to your room upon returning."

Jellal shrugged. "It left me rather exhausted, yes." Getting tired of beating around the bush and going absolutely nowhere with the conversation, he continued speaking. "What did you call me down for, Albus? If you don't mind me asking, that is."

The white-haired man's smile faltered for a split second before coming back full force. While the action was brief, Jellal caught it nonetheless. He didn't mention it.

"It's quite alright," Albus replied jovially, "I was the one to initiate this after all." He took a moment, letting his cheery façade drop, only to be replaced by a much more serious disposition. "I wanted to request something of you." The mage nodded, motioning for the man to continue. "Recently, there's been a... situation, for lack of a better word. I'm sure by now you have heard of a dark wizard named Voldemort?"

Jellal nodded after a moment. He'd overheard a few wizards speaking in one of the stores; if that wasn't enough, all the newspapers made it plain.

"You want me to protect the school and its students." The blue-haired man stated, keeping his expression carefully blank. Albus nodded.

"I do not want to ask too much of you, but it would be appreciated." He smiled again, only for his countenance to fall quickly as Jellal shook his head.

"I'm sorry Albus, but I can't do that." The younger man said, sighing internally. This world seemed to have as many problems as his own. "I can keep a lookout for him, but I shouldn't be interfering with the events in this world, especially as I don't belong here." _And because I'm not sure I trust you entirely, when I don't know the entire story of what's going on here. _But he didn't say that.

Albus nodded, lips stretched upwards again, though there was something more fake about his expression. More hollow. "Of course, of course. I shouldn't expect you to. I'm terribly sorry for asking."

"Not at all, Albus. I should be sorry for being unable to help you." The younger man replied, throwing out his own smile as the two stood, shaking hands.

They said brief farewells, both heading their separate ways.

As he walked away, Jellal felt the marginal mental push, trying to delve past the barriers around his thoughts. The accomplished telepath sighed, knowing what the elderly man was trying to do. He blocked the legilimency spell with ease, knowing the look that was bound to show on the man's face.

To try to read his thoughts… There was more to the man known as Albus Dumbledore than was let on.

* * *

"Where is it, where is it, where is it…?" He cursed as his head smacked against the bottom of the desk, the contents atop the mahogany rattling. He scooted back out, raking a hand gently through blue hair, fingers rubbing the sensitive spot. He sat back on the plush carpet, eyes once again scouring the room; or more specifically, the desk.

Any and all objects present had been thoroughly searched; the drawers and cabinets thrown open. The wardrobe was emptied, the few contents it held scattered on the floor. The sheets and blankets and pillows atop the bed had been thrown off, joining the clothes, and the mattress was upturned.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Jellal dragged himself to his feet, eyes easily finding the box sitting on the center of the desk. The indentation was still present in the velvet cushioning, the black wood case obviously hand-crafted. He ran a hand along the edge, fingertips ghosting over the wood.

Sighing again, Jellal shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the case to survey the room. He surveyed the mess that had ensued over the past few hours. It looked as if a whirlwind had searched through his room. Jellal grimaced. _Right, wind magic. _He probably could've performed _Sema_ or _Grand Chariot_ and come out with less damage.

Shaking his head, the blue-haired mage waved a hand, the sheets and blankets falling neatly back on the bed. Another flick of the wrist, and the clothes on their hangers were sent back to the closet.

He glanced out the small window, where a blue sky hovered in its designated place. "I really am in a different dimension… Even the sky looks different." He mumbled, mind shifting to thoughts of home. Abruptly, Jellal turned away, replacing its lid and moving the box off to the side. He pulled an old papyrus scroll out from one of the desk drawers, rolling it out and flattening it on the desktop.

He took a deep, shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment. Opening them again, brown eyes stared down at the elegant script looping its way across the page. His hands shook from where they held the scroll open, fingers threatening to curl in.

Familiar names, names that should not have been known in this world, stared back at him, popping out at him amongst the words. He couldn't read all of it—no, that was bound to cause more problems than it was worth right now—skimming over the passage to get only the barest idea of its content.

He really didn't need to, however, as he already knew what it was about. How could he not, having lived through that moment again and again and again? All the things he wished to forget, tried to forget, that had come back and haunted him every night until he was forced to acknowledge it.

A cry threatened to burst out of his throat, becoming stuck halfway when he refused to let it out. His teeth clenched, hands shaking so hard the desk was reacting as well, rumbling with the motion. He moved his hands, grabbing the scroll that had rolled back up at the absence of its makeshift paperweights, stomping angrily over to the window and shoving it open with his telekinesis.

His emotions had leaked into his magic, causing the window to fly up with much more force than necessary, nearly shattering it. He raised the papyrus in his hand, fists still shaking, staring out at the open green expanse—

And calmed abruptly, taking shuddering breaths and screwing his eyes shut, lowering both the window and the scroll-holding hand slowly. His lips thinned, pressed together tightly in an effort to reign in his emotions, eyes opening up again, if barely. They felt watery, though out of frustration, anger or genuine depression, he couldn't be sure.

Jellal carefully set the object back in the desk drawer, closing it perhaps harder than necessary and leaving the room in much the same manner.

* * *

Once he'd set foot outside, he immediately felt better. The breath of fresh air and the gentle breeze calmed his frayed nerves and relieved the tension building up in his shoulders and back. The grounds of Hogwarts were magnificent in the daylight; no longer the treacherous nor threatening surroundings looming over you, as they were at night. Hagrid's hut sat at the bottom of the hill, the forest beyond that. The lake wasn't far from his current position either.

After only a brief moment of indecision, the mage made his way to the lake, settling down before the glassy blue plane. If he looked hard enough, he could occasionally see evidence of creatures just below the surface; a webbed hand here or the flick of a tail there.

Rather than make him wary, these set his mind at peace. It reminded him of his home, of guilds like Lamia Scale or Mermaid Heel or Fairy Tail. Of the crazy things that happened every day, or that one of the guilds would end up wrapped up in—that is, if they weren't the cause of it all. This made him think of his own guild, Crime Sorciere. He remembered his friends and his guild members and…

Jellal smiled. He closed his eyes, and scarlet hair flashed in his vision, gave him strength. When the brown orbs opened again, they were filled with a renewed determination. He would get back, would be there when she returned. He just had to have faith.

Ten days until the start of the term.

* * *

**For those who may have any arguments about Jellal's magic abilities, it's been shown that he can use telekinesis (Fairy Tail Manga ch 46) and telepathy (chapter 287 or so). Naturally, I believe, using telepathy makes him a telepath, and especially considering he was once a Wizard Saint, he should have the ability and knowledge to set up mental barriers against foreign magic. As for the telekinesis, if you could use magic, wouldn't you take advantage of it? English wizards certainly do. **


	4. Chapter 4

**As I added last chapter for anyone who noticed, due to plot issues I felt I needed to change the year from third to fifth, so not much Lupin :(, but plenty of Umbridge. I apologize if that confuses anyone, though I did edit a few conversations in the like in the last two chapters to fit properly. It's not much, but it's a thing for those who wish to reread it.**

**Also, for some reason I keep wanting to change Jellal's last name from Fernandes to Ferdinand. It's sort of frustrating.  
Lastly, I don't own Umbridge's speech or other such things.**

* * *

"A teacher?"Jellal stared down at the remarkably short professor, who sat beaming at him from across the table. Lately, more and more teachers had been slowly trickling in, arriving at the grounds in preparation for the upcoming school term.

Filius Flitwick smiled brightly at the befuddled expression on the younger man. "Why yes! I've heard you use foreign magic, yes?" He inquired, a still delighted expression on the half-goblin's face. "Would it not be a wonderful class to teach? The students would love it for sure!" He proclaimed, and Jellal tried to hold back the grimace threatening to form on his face.

"My magic isn't the kind you can teach." He replied slowly, mind whirling with explanations and history he'd memorized over the past few days. "It's… hereditary." He clarified, and the smile twisted in confusion.

"Hereditary? I haven't heard of such a thing before." Flitwick muttered, and the blue-haired mage hurried to cover his tracks, to make them more reliable.

He laughed nervously, waving his hand in a somewhat dismissive manner. "Well, it's like when squibs are born or when a wizard marries a h—muggle. The magic doesn't always pass on, correct? My magic works in a similar way, though I agree it's not very common."

The inquisitive look on the professor's face disappeared at these words, and he nodded as if they made sense to him, despite Jellal having trouble understanding his own words. "Of course, of course. That makes sense, I suppose." He murmured, nodding some more. The taller of the two sighed silently in relief.

A period of silence passed over them as they turned back to their plates and continued eating. There was only a few of them there, the Headmaster absent for some business and Hagrid off to take care of his own things. Seemingly uncomfortable by the silence, one of the other teachers spoke up.

"Have you heard of the news that's been going around yet? It seems Sirius Black has attacked another muggle family again!" She exclaimed, blushing in embarrassment as her voice bounced on the cavernous walls._ Charity_, Jellal finally realized. _Her name was Charity._

Her words sparked a loud bout of controversy in the Great Hall, many of the professors proclaiming their lament whilst others criticized the Ministry and even Dumbledore. Jellal stayed quiet, only hearing vaguely of the incident from newspapers and not knowing enough about the man to really have an opinion or judgment.

He noticed another man staying equally as quiet; a long, hooked nose with oily black hair that hung down limply around his head. A scowl seemed to be set in the man's face permanently, though at times it would be deeper and more prominent than at others. Beady black eyes met his from down the table for a moment, before turning away again.

"What do you think, Jellal?" He jumped slightly at the sound of his name, turning towards the kindly woman looking at him with expectant, large brown eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, what did you say?" The dimension-hopping man asked, and the woman—Charity—giggled.

"What do you think about You-Know-Who? Do you believe he's really back?" She elaborated, and Jellal made a quiet sound of acknowledgement.

"I… can't really say." He replied hesitantly, and those beady black eyes turned to him again, narrowing. "He's not really... a prevalent figure where I'm from." He replied, shrugging.

He was still working through the (rather long) history of the wizarding community, so he hadn't gotten around to studying the events of the past twenty or so years. He only just finished the goblin wars, but Jellal figured he should spend these last few weeks catching up on their recent events and local creatures. Perhaps during the school year he could sit in on a few classes. And if he recalled, Minerva did say something about a newspaper…

His response, however, seemed to have elicited an almost overdramatic, collective gasp from the others. "Oh, you lucky man!"

"Where did you come from?!"

"Your home sounds a hell of a lot better than here."

"What kind of place is this?"

The outburst of questions from the other teachers sparked another topic entirely, one that Jellal wasn't very comfortable with.

"Where are you from, Mr. Fernandes?" The voice that spoke was unlike the others, a dry sneer with a penchant for getting under your skin. It silenced the others, and when Jellal looked up to meet beady black eyes, he wondered how anyone could have such respect for this man. Perhaps it was fear.

"You are?" He returned, keeping the snap out of his words. It wasn't entirely fair to judge the man based just on the impression of his voice and eyes. He knew from experience that appearances could be deceiving.

"Severus Snape." The dark-haired man returned, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "Where did you say you were from?"

"Magnolia." The skeptical sneer he received in return said more than enough.

Before anyone could question him further, however, Minerva came to his rescue. "Charity, have you met the new professor yet?"

He sent the proud woman a grateful look as Severus glanced at him distastefully. Albus had decided it best to hide his… 'true identity' from the rest of the teachers, for the sake of simplicity. And because some couldn't keep a secret.

* * *

The days passed rather quickly after that, with Jellal avoiding Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore while being frequently bothered by the other teachers. Amidst all this he spent much of the free time he had left reading everything from the newspapers to muggle fairy tales. He found the latter topic particularly interesting, as it was interesting to see the difference between what regular civilians thought was magic compared to the reality. He found it even more amusing to compare those to his own world and magic.

Nonetheless, September First came relatively quickly, and it wasn't long before Jellal found himself being dressed in ridiculous, long blue robes that smelled too musty to be new. Underneath he stubbornly wore the dark, formfitting shirt he'd worn upon arriving here, as well as the same boots and trousers. It had taken Minerva nearly an hour to get him to take off the plated armor.

"Oh, you look marvelous!" Charity had cried out upon seeing him, clapping her hands together in satisfaction. She appeared to have dressed herself up more than usual, her brown heels somehow working well with the earthen green robes that draped themselves over her arms. Her springy auburn hair was brighter than usual, and with the small amount of makeup, she looked almost ten years younger.

She dragged him through the hall and down the large steps, heels clicking along the stone floors. The sound made the mage wonder how women could move so quickly in those.

The Great Hall was far different than he was used to. The first thing he noticed were the four, extremely long tables in the center of the room. They were flanked on either side by benches just as long, and made of the same dark, rich brown-colored wood.

The enchanted ceiling showcased a beautiful sunset, and just underneath floated hundreds of candles that lit up the room in a soft glow. He gazed up at them, wondering briefly how they kept wax from dripping onto the people below.

At the other end of the Hall was a smaller table, where instead of benches there were a series of chairs. When he counted them, there were enough for each staff member. The center chair, which he presumed was for the Headmaster, stood taller than the rest.

Before the Staff Table stood a podium… of sorts. It was bronze in color; the base was intricate, though from across the Hall, he couldn't make out any details. The top of the podium was a bird, what looked to be an owl, its wings spread to take flight.

At the Staff Table, already there sat several professors, including Severus Snape, Filius Flitwick, and Pomona Sprout. They sat chatting amiably amongst each other, a few waving genially as Charity dragged Jellal towards two empty seats at one end of the table. The moment they were seated she began speaking in an almost excited manner.

"I know you haven't met Sybill yet. She's right over there." The woman to whom she was referring to sat on the opposite end of the table, speaking to a somewhat hassled-looking Pomona. She was wiry, a tall and thin figure that looked as if she was drowning in the flowing dress and airy-like shawl she wore. Her eyes seemed unnaturally large, though Jellal chalked that particular trait up to the large round glasses she wore. "Sybill Trelawney, the Divination professor. She's… strange, but I suppose you'll have to see for yourself."

"Where are Minerva and Hagrid?" Jellal asked, noting the two empty chairs.

Charity beamed, obviously into the topic he had just opened up. "Oh, they're out to help with the students! Well, Minerva is. Hagrid will be out for awhile, apparently, so he can't do it this year. But it's a great tradition, really. Hagrid gathers all the first years to a series of small boats, so they get the best first view of the castle! Really, someday you should ask Hagrid to take you, when he gets back, of course. It's right across the lake as well, truly wonderful, especially during the day!"

"What about Minerva? Where does she come in?"

Charity giggled. "She conducts the Housing Ceremony. Oh, that'll be a joy for you to watch as well." Jellal raised an eyebrow, but the Muggle Studies Professor refused to elaborate.

The conversation devolved into idle chatter after that, as the remaining teachers—with the exception of Minerva and Hagrid—filed in one by one. Jellal couldn't help but note absently, after even the Headmaster had sat down, that aside from the two dealing with the first years, there was another seat that remained empty.

Before he could delve much into it, however, the sun finally disappeared into the sky, and the chatter mounted. Jellal watched with interest as, with the wave of a wand, Albus summoned a stool that stood before the podium, what looked to be a raggedy old hat perched atop.

The mage raised an inquisitive eyebrow, looking to Charity on his right. She smiled brightly at him. "It's for the Housing Ceremony," was all she said in explanation. Jellal sighed, but didn't question her further. He would find out soon enough, it seemed.

As he'd been told, a few more minutes and a lone woman stepped daintily within, a wide smile on her bright red lips that stretched her boxy, wrinkled face in a manner the mage found reminiscent to a toad. Her thick, though obviously fake, lashes fluttered in his general direction, and he couldn't help but shudder at the leer in those blue eyes. Her outfit was hideously pink, the outfit all the same shade aside from the frills that decorated it, which were simply a darker shade. Atop her impeccably curled honey-brown hair was a hat the same shade and design as the frills.

She smiled brightly as she took the empty seat to Jellal's left, nodding and greeting the other professors. Upon seeing the mage beside her, however, she paused, and if it was possible, the ex-Saint swore her expression became even brighter and shallower.

"Why, hello there, I didn't see you." Her voice was honey-sweet, practically dripping with the substance, but it was simultaneously so faked the sound actually _hurt_ to listen to. "Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic." She held out a pert hand, which Jellal took somewhat awkwardly.

"Jellal Fernandes. It's nice to meet you." Dolores beamed falsely at him, and opened her mouth to presumably question him, though before she could say anymore; the older students began filing in, chatting loudly with each other as they separated to sit at one of the four tables.

Jellal sat back, gazing around the room and watching, grateful for the distraction. He noticed the different colors that decorated the uniforms of every student, and how each student sat with their own color. He figured it must have something to do with the 'Houses' he'd read about; something he'd figure out soon enough.

It was as he was gazing amongst the students that he recognized the dark head and round glasses of Harry Potter. His uniform was trimmed with red and gold, and he spoke closely with two other students as they sat down. They were peering up at the Staff Table and whispering, and when Jellal caught Harry's eye, he couldn't help the sardonic upwards twitch of his lips. It seemed he wouldn't be able to escape the brat that easily.

* * *

Harry stared in shock for a moment before his dumbfounded expression hardened. The man had _smirked_ at him. Granted, he'd forgotten that the strange man had said he'd be working at Hogwarts, but for some reason the man rubbed him the wrong way. He didn't trust Jellal Fernandes.

The fifth year was broken out of his thoughts as an elbow nudged him in the side. "Harry, what are you looking at?" Hermione leaned over towards him, her eyes glancing in a furtive manner towards the Staff Table before returning back to him.

"Is it the guy with the blue hair? Cause I agree he's awfully weird." Ron piped in, staring without any of the discretion Hermione was using. "I mean, who gets a tattoo on his face and turns his hair blue? Aside from Tonks, of course."

"Maybe he had an accident with a hex or a potion recently." The frizzy-haired brunette sniffed disdainfully. "You shouldn't judge people based on appearances, Ronald."

Harry sighed at his friends' antics. "It's not that. I've met him before." He explained, but before he could elaborate further, the first years all filed in behind McGonagall. He sighed again and sat back, ignoring both Ron's and Hermione's curious looks as he turned his full attention to the front, where Professor McGonagall had just set the Sorting Hat down on the stool.

His eyes strayed back towards where Jellal sat next to Umbridge, his eyes holding an intense, unhidden curiosity directed towards the hat.

The hat's seam of a mouth ripped open once more, and the moment the song began, the blue-haired stranger nearly toppled over in his seat, and Harry bit back a laugh.

* * *

_In times of old, when I was new,  
And Hogwarts barely started,  
The founders of our noble school  
Thought never to be parted._

_United by a common goal,_  
_They had the selfsame yearning_  
_To make the world's best magic school_  
_And pass along their learning._

_"Together we will build and teach"_  
_The four good friends decided._  
_And never did they dream that they_  
_Might someday be divided._

_For were there such friends anywhere_  
_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_  
_Unless it was the second pair_  
_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_  
_How could such friendships fail?_  
_Why, I was there, so I can tell_  
_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those_  
_Whose ancestry's purest."_  
_Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose_  
_Intelligence is surest."_

_Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those_  
_With brave deeds to their name."_  
_Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot_  
_And treat them just the same."_

_These differences caused little strife_  
_When first they came to light._  
_For each of the four founders had_  
_A house in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so,_  
_For instance, Slytherin_  
_Took only pure-blood wizards_  
_Of great cunning just like him._

_And only those of sharpest mind_  
_Were taught by Ravenclaw_  
_While the bravest and the boldest_  
_Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest  
and taught them all she knew,  
Thus, the houses and their founders  
Maintained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_  
_for several happy years,_  
_but then discord crept among us_  
_feeding on our faults and fears._

_The Houses that, like pillars four_  
_had once held up our school_  
_now turned upon each other and_  
_divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_  
_must meet an early end._  
_What with dueling and with fighting_  
_and the clash of friend on friend._

_And at last there came a morning_  
_when old Slytherin departed_  
_and though the fighting then died out_  
_he left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_  
_were whittled down to three_  
_have the Houses been united_  
_as they once were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_  
_and you all know the score:_  
_I sort you into Houses_  
_because that is what I'm for._

_But this year I'll go further,_  
_listen closely to my song:_  
_though condemned I am to split you_  
_still I worry that it's wrong,_

_Though I must fulfill my duty_  
_and must quarter every year_  
_still I wonder whether sorting_  
_may not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_  
_the warning history shows,_  
_for our Hogwarts is in danger_  
_from external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_  
_or we'll crumble from within_  
_I have told you, I have warned you..._  
_let the Sorting now begin._

* * *

While Jellal admitted that the Hat had startled him immensely at first, he found quickly that it was of great intelligence, and not at all uncommon here. He could sense from where he sat the intensely powerful, ancient magic woven into the Hat, so much so that he dared to say it might even come close to Erza in terms of sheer magical power. He knew it was probably impossible now, but it made him want to meet the creator—_or creators,_ he added—of the Hat.

Through the beginning of the song, he had surmised that it was something that had happened before, and often it seemed, as none of the students or staff seemed surprised by it, aside from the first years and him, of course. It was at the end of the song, however, that he wondered if that assumption was wrong.

Everyone seemed stunned to silence, and it was only after several moments that the crowd belatedly began clapping. He stared at the hat for several moments longer, wondering about the warning it had given. _That was probably the unusual thing here._ He mused, shaking himself out of his thoughts as Minerva called out the first name on the parchment she held before her.

"Ashton, Brianne." A small redheaded girl skipped up to the stool, plopping down on it as Minerva placed the Sorting Hat atop her head. The way it flopped over her face was an amusing picture that briefly brought Jellal back to his thoughts of home.

_Erza…_

This reverie was short-lived, however, as the startlingly loud voice of the Hat rang through the Hall. "GRYFFINDOR!" Jellal jumped slightly at the boom that echoed throughout the room.

The red and gold table—the same one Harry sat at—erupted in applause and cheering, a pair of twins even throwing out a whistle or two. By the time the girl sat down though, the cheering had receded and McGonagall had called the next name.

Jellal smiled as the last child was called up, a boy with striking gray eyes. He was placed in Slytherin; the house that Jellal had learned bore the green and silver colors.

The boy sat down, and everyone went quiet as Dumbledore stood before the podium. The man smiled, that incessant twinkle in his eye—frankly, that particular feature was starting to get on the mage's nerves—as he began addressing his attentive audience. His voice was relatively quiet, yet it could be heard easily throughout the Great Hall.

"There is a time for speaking, but now it is not. Tuck in!" He sat back down again, and the blue-haired mage started in surprise as before him, all kinds of food popped up on platters and dishes. Beside him, Charity laughed softly at his reaction, and he couldn't help but flush in embarrassment.

Roast beef, roast chicken, steak, sausages, lamb chops and pork chops dripped with juices while potatoes came out roasted, mashed and boiled. Steak and kidney pie sat to his left, peas, carrots and Yorkshire pudding to his right. Farther down he could see the desserts; everything from ice cream and apple pies to jam doughnuts and rice pudding.

He rubbed his eyes to make sure it was all really there, and Charity laughed some more. "C'mon, it won't disappear." She reassured him with a pat on the shoulder for emphasis before piling her own plate with various foods.

"Not like it would be unusual." He muttered to himself with a sigh, but nonetheless followed the Professor's example.

The food, he decided, was a little bland, but it was more than he'd had for a long time. Whilst eating, however, he could sense Harry occasionally glancing back up at him, no doubt with some ridiculous suspicions already in mind.

When the food had been cleared away and everyone sat with full stomachs, Albus once again stood before the podium, though this time Jellal only half-listened as he spoke of various announcements and reminders, feeling almost sleepy from all the food.

"…I also wish to welcome our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dolores Umbridge." The simpering woman to his left sat up straighter with—was that a giggle? He couldn't quite tell, but the sound brought him back to awareness quickly enough. "I hope you'll all join me in wishing the Professor good luck." Albus seemed to sigh before continuing. "As usual, our caretaker Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you—"

He was interrupted with a soft "hem, hem," at which Jellal flinched in surprise at. The woman in pink stood as everyone turned to look at her, and the former Saint noticed Harry whispering something to his friends before he returned his attention back to Dolores.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for those _kind_ words of welcome." She smiled up at the man as she began taking careful, methodical steps towards him. "And how lovely, to see all your bright, happy faces smiling up at me." Jellal bit his lip at the dull, monotonous, almost _annoyed_ expressions on every student's face. "I'm sure we're all going to be _very good_ friends."

Jellal caught the "not likely" utterance from the red-headed twins that were whistling earlier, during the Sorting Ceremony, and his lip curled upwards in amusement. He wasn't exactly sure who this woman was or what she wanted, but from the sound of it, he was about to find out.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations, lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been to the noble profession of teaching."

Something about the way the woman spoke caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up in an unpleasant way. There was something about her that seemed almost… familiar.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation, because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment."

Underneath the table, Jellal clenched his fist, knuckles turning white. _'She's trying to control them._'

"Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be…" She smiled down at the students, most of which weren't even listening anymore. "Prohibited."

Right then and there, Jellal decided _he hated Dolores Umbridge._


End file.
